Teacher take these kids from me, I can’t bear them any more.

“ARE WE NEARLY THERE YET?!?”

No, not the question coming every few minutes from the backseat on the road trip you bravely attempted this summer. This is a cry from deep inside the subconscious of every parent as we approach the dog days of the summer holidays. “Are we nearly there yet?” isn’t about a physical destination; it’s a cry for help as we count down the days till they’re back at school and we can finally find some much-needed headspace.

The calendar breaks all rules of space and time during these weeks, your exhaustion somehow putting the universe in opposition to Einstein’s theory of relativity; why does time seem to be moving at a glacial pace for us parents, compared to those child-free friends complaining about the summer flashing by too fast?

It was two years ago I wrote about lovingly launching my children through the school gates. My feelings then echo my feelings today:

Here’s the thing. We all know we shouldn’t wish away the last days of summer—calculating the remaining time until they’re finally standing awkwardly on the front doorstep, forcing out a smile, for that quintessential “first day back” photo. But you can’t help calendar-watch. I’ve had countless friends, from the UK, US and beyond, message to share their delight in being back on the school run, and having a clean, quiet home to return to.

I feel guilty thinking about it, and wrong writing about it. Because the number of summers we’ll spend with our kids is finite. Most parents will get the first 16, more or less. Some of the later ones might see your kids going elsewhere, or bringing a best friend come on holiday with you, or whatever the hell teenagers are doing over summer, of which I have frighteningly little idea.

School holidays as a child were a sweet relief: an escape from the rigid structure of the school day, where a ringing bell would indicate movement was required—either of your person or your frame of mind. That last day of school excitement was unparalleled—the ecstasy of a Friday afternoon extended across an entire summer. For parents, it’s anything but, and before long we begin to jones for some order in our lives that the school week brings.

We’ve searched for structure wherever we can find it. We’ve long-cemented our status as regulars in our local coffee shop, but this summer we took it to a whole new level. We’ve spent most mornings there—a simple way to get them up and out of the house, with a vital flat white for the parents, and a box of street chalks behind the counter so the kids can keep themselves occupied outside.

PICTURE

We’re not the only family to have the same idea. I’ve regularly bumped into the same few folks there, parents partaking in a similar ritual, the light in their eyes slowly extinguishing over the summer the way I’m sure mine have been too. Seeing these familiar faces over the last few weeks has felt like prisoners coming to the end of a long sentence, meeting in the rec yard and sharing their hopes and dreams for when they’re finally released. “What are you gonna do when you get out?” “I don’t know, maybe a hobby of some kind?”

Not that I’ve ever run one, but this week has been akin to hitting the 25-mile marker of a marathon. We’ve had to dig deep, knowing we’re almost there. But instead of thousands of well-wishers cheering you on, you’ve just got one screaming four-year-old who hasn’t slept in a week. It has been a slog. Even with our greatest of efforts, the kids are understimulated. The day trips have grown progressively more functional and less aspirational as the summer progressed—a feeling captured perfectly by comedian George Lewis here: “Today we’re going to … pick up daddy’s prescription!”

The calendar breaks all rules of space and time during these weeks. Your exhaustion somehow puts the universe in opposition to Einstein’s theory of relativity: why does time seem to be moving at a glacial pace for parents, compared to those child-free friends complaining about the summer flashing by too fast? How has this last week seemed to last a month? And why will the first day that they’re back at school flash by in mere minutes?

I may be longing for my children to return to the weekday care of others. But this was a summer to remember. My ongoing health tribulations and battle with long Covid seems to be in a better place. The Dutch say "sickness comes on horseback, but departs on foot.” Whilst it hasn’t entirely left the vicinity, I’m feeling like a different person than last summer, which I spent mostly hiding from the sun and crashed out in dreaded post-exertion malaise, even when the exertion was as minimal as “see some friends for lunch.”

The back-to-school vibe can shift parents into a mindset similar to New Year for others. What did we learn over summer? What are we going to do differently next year? What do we want to think about now we have more time to think, to feel, to do? The last few months have seen an increased focus from dads in the community on their personal and mental health. Some dads have shared their progress in shifting their relationship towards alcohol, others have taken up fitness challenges, and one dad is sharing the (frankly gorgeous) output of his daily sketching practice. All this collective progress has inspired the creation of a new channel: I’m Trying Ringo, in honour of Samuel L. Jackson’s memorable closing monologue from Pulp Fiction. There’s something special in having a group that you can share your goals and progress with. Like writer and coach Dan Sullivan said, you should “surround yourself with people who remind you more of your future than your past.” We only get one body, and if the last few years of health-related tribulations have taught me anything, it’s that you can’t possibly be the parent and partner that you want to be if you’re not physically fit to do it. So whilst this isn’t going to turn into a fitness newsletter, expect to see more on this topic in the near future.

I’m giving this essay the final once over in the same coffee shop where I’ve spent many mornings over summer. But today feels different. My coffee is being savoured, not swiftly imbibed. I am writing without a small child pulling my shirt demanding I go outside and play. I’ve seen some of those same parents this morning, but the weight of the world seems to be lifted off our collective shoulders. It’s not far from the truth to say the atmosphere here this morning is celebratory. One of key tenets of The New Fatherhood is that we can thrive, not just survive, as parents. But sometimes, survival is all we can muster.

I love my children, but after 76 days togeter, it’s time. Some distance, even the five kilometres between here and their school, will surely make the heart grow fonder.